


Not Anymore

by lunchables (orphan_account)



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Faberry, Glee - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lunchables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She just drives me insane. Not in the pleasuring, butterflies-in-my-stomach way that flaunts my emotions when she smiles, or laughs at something I say, but in the way I want to turn my skin into carving with a knife and bleed for her; In the way that makes me want to hold the barrel of a gun to my temple; In the way I want to ignore her for the rest of my life because the fact she still can look at me and not see the mistakes I made is worse than being hated for it. Being the murderer with a guilty conscience is worse than having a bullet in your skull. I hate her for forgiving me, because I know I'm only going to hurt her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

 

_I remember the curves of your smile. But I forgot the lurch in my heart and the way you made me feel. I close my eyes, and I see those gleaming brown eyes, carving out my soul and enhancing my passion. "In your eyes, I see the city, but in mine it's all on fire." I don't know how else to explain it. Darling, you were made for big things. You were gonna be a star, and I was going to sit in the front row. But now the spotlights are turned off and I'm sitting alone in the dark_

_Where did you go?_

_Can you hear me?_

_I miss you._

_I remember your curled little lashes flickering as you looked up at me innocently. I remember it all; That breathless, half-hearted chuckle you gave when something broke your heart. I remember the pants in your throat and the moans on your tongue on that summer night so long ago as your voice clawed at my skull and your lips kissed mine. It was the night you tore into my flesh with your teeth and took me apart, limb from limb, and I gave myself to you._

_I remember the curves of your smile, Rachel. How could I not? You have a beauty glowing from the seamed string of your sweaters and leaked out your pockets. You stitched my together Rachel, you held me up in front of the light, scrunched your wide little eyes, and you stitched me back together._

_Where did we go wrong? Don't you know I love you? I would scream it at you, "I hate you!" but it'd never come out quite right. Can't you hear me screaming? Why aren't you listening to me? Don't you hear me?_

_"I hate you!"_

_I love you._

_You would trace patterns on my hip in the morning. The sun would be chewing through the curtains, and it'd set your smile on fire as I blink my eyes open. Wow, were you beautiful. You were so beautiful. I can't believe it, Rachel. You were so beautiful. You are so beautiful. But beauty never defined you. You defined it and you snatched it into your clutches and stripped it of its qualities, handing it back to me to reveal the flaws and raw, beating hearts beauty's price takes._

_You were so broken, you were so insecure. You had patches and loose stitches and you forgot how to smile. You needed someone to help you lift your chin to the skies and tighten those strings, and loosen that noose. I thought that's what I'd do, I thought that's who I'd be. I took the needle and smiled softly into your curls, so why did I cut you open and grin a bloody smile?_

_"I hate you.."_

_I love you.._

_"Just leave.."_

_Please stay._

_I can't do this on my own. I don't know how to live a life without you, Rachel. You taught me to love, you taught me to breathe, when all I knew how to do was scream. You winded your arm around my waist and demonstrated the steps, you laughed so brilliantly and kissed my lips. You sucked in my air and claimed it as your own, teaching me to share. You taught me to scoot over, and give room to someone else._

_I did, Rachel. I did. I gave you so much room, I'm cowering in the corner, giving you the space to fill my life. But now you're gone. Now I can't find my balance again, and I can't fill this room. This room is empty, the fan is screaming, and I'm alone, because I held on to you when I pushed you away. I'm so sorry Rachel._

_Where did you go?_


	2. My Bloated Brain

 

“I like your smile.”

It’s that one line, those four words, that single breath that started this. It was a turning point, it was a blossoming scream into the infinite oblivion. It was her little curtsey and the dip of her chin as she obscured her smile. It was my crooked grin, and the way I nervously scratched at the back of my head and swiped at the ground with my heel. I should have run out right then, stopped any of this from happening. We weren’t friends. We’d spoke a few times, I’d given her harsh criticism on her singing, she’d complained of my lack of vocal range and how dreadfully I sounded with the group. I threw a daggers at her back, and she spat in my face. But somewhere over the last year, the taunts died out to a pitiful pile of ashes until enemies became classmates, and we clapped when the other finished a performance. We didn’t take the extra minute to congratulate each other, or maybe share a heartfelt moment after an emotional crisis in one of our lives. No, we swayed in the background of one anothers’ lives, peeking through momentarily, but never singing out a note or stepping closer to the front.

But after a day in Glee club, the pitch in her voice when she sung laced over my ears, and the look of her butt in a pair of jeans caught my eye. And then she smiled.

It was undeniably her smile.

And a friendship bloomed -- it was Russian Roulette from the beginning, and we were on the last round and now it was finally bound to happen. Something about Rachel’s “inspiring” rants to the rest of the glee club, or her obsession with animal sweaters -- something about it dared me to dance with her. But it was today, the day she smiled again at me, and our acquaintance branched away from just the choir room.

She slipped her fingers into her front pockets, jutting out her chin as she leaned back with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, you do, huh?” The wiggle of her eyebrows and the playful challenge in her tone only blinded my guards more.

With a casual shrug, I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s almost adorable.”

“Almost?”

“Not quite there yet.”

She laughed.

Oh, Christ, that laugh. Her shoulders drooped forward and her head fell back only slightly and her long hair swam through the air as her laugh filled the empty choir room, before she looked back down at the ground, a smirk sewn to her lips. I could record her laugh on a tape and mix it with a song to create a euphoric melody that would loosen my shoulders a notch further and urge my walls a little lighter.

“Enlighten me, Quinn, how do I get there?” Rachel’s wide innocent eyes hooked the ropes around my neck and nibbled on the noose around my neck mockingly.

God, was her smile adorable. She was there. She was passed that line, she had danced passed it with a wave over her shoulder and a giggle in her wake. When her eyes fluttered up to mine, and those eyelids, that have held in so many tears, would blink, I could feel the globe’s spinning slow down, I could feel the axis wobble, and the time gradually chew by, I could feel everything.

I shrug and chuckle, chewing on the corner of my lip. “Walking me to my locker might score you some points.”

Again, her eyebrow darted upwards. “Oh yeah?” At first, it was an amused smirk glowing, but even she giggled and she bore a toothy grin, licking her lips to stare at the floor with flushed cheeks. She shrugged innocently. “And are you asking me to do just that?”

The corners of my lips tickled, pricking up. Biting on the tip of my tongue, I held in an enthusiastic squeal of pure ecstasy just at her mocking tone and shy smile.

“Maybe.”

She clicked her tongue and sighed. “I don’t know, Quinn. I’m not sure if I can voluntarily associate myself with you outside of the choir room unless a definite proposal was given from your end.”

For a moment, I thought she was being her typical Rachel Berry self and stringing a million words together to push the rest of us away, creating a barricade holding us at bay long enough for her to escape. But I blinked at her momentarily before chuckling, seeing she was only messing with me. I butted her shoulder with mine playfully, rolling my eyes.

“You’re a brat,” I claimed, shaking my head with a grin, never letting any other force cut off this eye contact we’d been able to maintain.

“If you really want me to walk you to your locker, you’re not doing yourself much good.”

“But you are a brat.”

“An adorable brat, by your definition.”

“Almost adorable.”

“I think you’re a brat.”

“I think you should walk me to my locker.” I grin confidently, a twisted cute smile I knew would capture her attention and maybe boost me up a little higher. With her single, regular smile, and every state of it, she was sucking the air from my lungs and lightening my head. The grounds needed to be leveled because right now, despite her lack of knowledge on the matter, she was teetering above me.

"You haven't given much clarification as to why I should in the first place." Her hand fell from the piano to her hip, and I bit my lip.

"I have this fear of abandonment, I like to delay as for as long as possible," I claimed sarcastically, nodding in mock self-pity.

Her fingers brushed her chest, and she appeared drastically sympathetic. "Such a tragedy, I’m really sorry Quinn.” She dropped her head and shook it with a defeated sigh, humming. “That just doesn’t seem to give any benefit to me.”

“You’re persistent.”

I could tell that behind this goofy facade and childish little back-and-forth we were going at with this conversation, she was still weary. She was waiting for the snide shove or a bitch-slap and vulgar, callous words that would slice nasty gauges   into her skin. Yes, like I said, we’d given up that hateful relationship and both lowered our weapons, but the difference was hers was out of defense. I’d tore her apart and shredded her insecurities to bits for no reason at all. I’d run up into her, shake my finger in her face and spit in her eye. Looking back, it’s like telling a story of an old friend I gave up on, one I couldn’t bear to watch tear everything down anymore. I hate it because it was me, and some people never really change. It’s like being chained to a time bomb, the clock blurred and all you can do is wait for the moment it’s going to blow. When I look at the surface, I can say I’m different, I know better, and I can move on. But how much is it going to take before I go back to that cynical, bitter teenager that found pleasure in others’ pain?

Shaking my head, I smile at her with a cocked jaw. “I have this habit of just going for what I want.”

Rachel leaned against the piano, narrowing her eyes up at me. “So what do you want?”

I smirked and gave a throaty chuckle, ruffling my short blonde hair. The air had thinned from a rope to sewing string, a delicate bond magnifying in on a hitch of my breath, or the licking of her lips. It was fragile, but it hitched my breath and made her lick her lips. Tense but loose, a current was running between us and this connection we'd always had -- just made poor use of -- was being accessed, while right now all I could think was how much I loved her smile.

I knew she was expecting me to take her hand, twirl her on her toes and dip her long hair towards the floor as the room spun evenly. But I was shy -- I'd get the kindling and the wood to build a bonfire, hold the match to the edge, but never light it. I would bring everyone's hopes up, only turn my back and leave them wondering why they believed it in the first place.

I scratched my neck, turning away briefly. "I just figured you wanted me to ask you..." I trailed off, shoving the obvious lie through my teeth. No, I didn't 'just figure' it, I wanted to bump shoulders with her in the hall, I wanted the back of my hand to brush against her hip as we walked, or our fingers to skim and touch for a brief moment. I wanted her to lean against the locker beside mine and smile at me and watch her big brown eyes flicker into mine.  

She nodded, the tongues of her fire beat down from my casual words. She bent forward to scoop her bag off the floor and gripped the strap of it tightly, sticking her tongue into the inside of her cheek. "Actually, I think I'm gonna be late for History." She sucked in her bottom lip, slipping a glance towards the door.

I tried to cover my tracks the best I could. "I think you're already a few hundred years late on that, actually."

She laughed half-heartedly, this small chuckle that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand. "I'll see you around Quinn." She flicked her fingers off her strap in a small wave as her lips tightened and she nodded with a mellow look to me, walking off to her next class, leaving me ready to thud my fist at a wall.

* * *

****  
** **

Does my hatred and anger define my choices? Or are these actions what fuel the shrieking pit of detest in my stomach? Maybe I should use a past tense, but I don’t know where I lie anymore. Like I said, thinking back it’s telling a bedtime story to someone else, it’s not a biography of who I used to be. But have I really changed, or do I just find a more suitable way to express it?

Filling the bag looped across my chest, the weight growing more irritable by the minute, I tilt my head towards the words springing from Santana’s mouth about a petite blonde cheerleader she’d had her eyes on for a while. I nodded respectively, tossed a shrug in the mix after a question, and sympathetic smiles bore across my face like a film, all timed and set reactions. Santana never had much of an issue with my lack of input on things unless my word was absolutely depended on, which from her perspective, it rarely was.

The thing about Santana was -- she liked to endlessly rant about what a tease some girls were, or that a full-blown Ten transferred to her class, but claimed she was as straight as a ruler. It got old after a while, and a tuner was embedded in my skull to limit her extent of rampages.

Shutting my locker and twisting the lock, I exhaled and raised my eyebrows minimally at Santana, leaning back against the wall and hugging my chest. “That sucks.” There. My side of the conversation was set for the next few minutes.

“I mean, you see where I’m coming from, right?” Santana pleaded, throwing her hands in the air and pinching the bridge of my nose. “You don’t just lead someone on like that and pull that shit when you’re seeing someone else. She’s not cheating on the punk with the stupid mohawk, but honestly -- she might as well be with the lucrative hugs that last on for decades and the footsies under the table--”

“You play footsies with her?” I questioned calmly, perking my lips up bemusedly. “How sweet.” I grinned at her, nudging her with my knee.

She wagged her little Latina finger under my nose, glaring up at me. “Hey -- shut it.” Huffing her chest up, she loosened back down and flipped her dark hair. “I get bored during Spanish, and she isn’t really sure what class it even is most of the time. Her leg just sort of strikes at that point and I’d be rude to reject.”

I licked my lips and nodded, still smirking. Santana did have a habit of being the spawn of Satan and slipping knives under my veins, she was fun. She was this insecure teenage girl underneath just like everyone else. But she wasn’t normal.

“Fuck off,” she muttered in response to my smile, but she couldn’t suppress her own as she fluck her fingers at my shoulders and chuckled. “Whatever. Are you still coming by after school? For some reason Brittney likes you, and she told me you should come too. She wants to play Twister.”

“Twister?”

“You know, the thing with the dots and sexual tension.”

“Why would you even want to play that?”

“Because it has fucking sexual tension.”

“No it doesn’t, it’s a game for eight year-olds.”

“Dammit, Quinn.” Santana frowned, puffing air out from her lips. “It’s besides the point. So are you?”

I shrugged and pushed myself off from the lockers as the hallways thinned out and it was easier to stride down them gradually, and Santana fell right into place. “Sure, I guess.”

“Sweet, so I’ll tell her....”

I couldn’t listen to her even remotely now, I couldn’t be held reliable for a witness of her actions at the moment because we’d rounded the corner and the girl with the smile looked up, and well, she smiled.

We were on the opposite side of the hallway, and she was by her locker. Fuck, I should have known she was down this way, I should have paid more attention. Clearly expecting me to tread right on passed, she lifted her hand, flickering them slightly at me. I only waved back at first, hugging my arms tight across my stomach before I tapped Santana on the shoulder and weaved through the labyrinth of soon-to-be dropouts our school was overflowing with, and rocked my heels to a stop in front of Rachel, mirroring her smile.

“Hey,” I breathed.

“Clearly you made it to your locker in one piece.”

I clicked my tongue and nodded, trying to down-size my foolish grin to a passable smirk. “I did.”

Santana was still looking about, making sure I clearly was standing there talking to someone I humiliated for two years and ignore for another, and looked as if she were trying to chase her tail. It wasn’t that she was against my suitable tortures inflicted on Rachel, frankly quite the opposite. She wasn’t exactly someone ready to purchase a ticket first-in-line at one of Rachel’s many showings on Broadway in give-or-take four years. No buts. She found Rachel a parasitic annoyance. She had this sassy, open-mouth look on right now, waiting for my to acknowledge it verbally so she could drag me out by the hair.

But I was smiling at Rachel, and she was smiling back.

Have I mentioned her smile? The small one, the shy one, and she lifts her fingers to actually hide it from view, brushing her lips with her knuckles.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of this little pit-stop of yours?” she asked innocently, clasping her fingers across the spine of her text book she held in front of her. Those big brown eyes were oh so wide and cheerful, I don’t think I’d ever believe the truth.

“Quinn’s bloated brain is what you owe it to,” Santana retorted, frowning at me as her eyes scanned across my skin for a visible brain tumor.

I threw her a glare before stomping on her foot. “Actually, I was wondering if you were doing anything after school.”

Santana’s eyebrows rocketed, her jaw dropping a notch. She knew I didn’t torment Rachel anymore, and that I was done with that kind of shit, and she’d more or less accepted that; but she wasn’t really ready to watch me invite her over to her place when nothing pleasant about Rachel had ever been spewed from Santana’s mouth ever.

Rachel surveyed the scene before her, glancing between us and then throwing one over her shoulder. Clearly weighing her options, she clicked her tongue and chewed on the inside of her lip, torn. “I.. wasn’t planning on... doing anything,” she confessed at last, more cautiously speaking because of the scowl Santana bore.

I clasped my fingers together, letting the vines of my grin branch across my face. “Great -- do you want to come with us? We’re going back to San--”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Santana dead panned, intervening between Rachel and so she cut the string of connection. “There’s no fucking way I’m letting this dwarf in my house you, me, and Brittney.”

Rachel winced, and I through an apologetic look her way. “Santana--”

“No, Quinn. Seriously, what the fuck? You still say how stupid she looks with her million headbands and retarded animal sweaters.” I clamped my mouth shut, dropping my eyes. “You know me, I’m all for fun and games and putting her in her place, but at least be straightforward about it and quit pretending you actually like her.”

I attempted to cut her off one last time but she threw her hands up, wiggled her fingers sarcastically at Rachel before stomping off to the exit, clearly pleased with herself.

Biting my lip, I looked down and refused to meet Rachel’s eyes, who also seemed uncomfortable. Just as I looked up, she shut her locker and sucked in her bottom lip, nodding at me awkwardly.

“Rachel, wait, I--”

She lifted her hand, opening her mouth but remained silent before shutting it again. A sigh ignited on her lips and she turned on her heel. She was kneeling in on herself, she was caged, she was hiding as she walked away. She was concealing herself, she was pushing up the same walls I kept secure around my own barriers, and she was hiding.

She was hiding from me, and I think that was the worst part.

 


	3. Okay

“I hope you’re aware that you’re a complete bitch.”

Santana shrugged like it didn’t bother her and shot me a look. “Right, cause I’m the one messing with her head.”

I would’ve defended myself, I would’ve slammed my fists on the dashboard of her car or roll my eyes irritably at her. I would have demanded she accept that I can have other friends with a different status level. I would have spoken up. But I didn’t. There’s no other explanation, no valuable reasoning. I just didn’t.

But I huffed and crossed my arms across my hips. I didn’t demand she stop the car before fleeing the scene like a criminal, I didn’t make a statement. I didn’t stand up for the girl with the smile because I had an unruly frown and they could never coordinate.

I’m not messing with her head.

I like her head, because it’s the one that possesses _the_ smile. It’s the head with millions of swarmed thoughts digging into her skull while only a few can slip through her lips. It blooms flowing locks that I’m privileged to gaze at the back of in honors chemistry and is always getting caught in her jacket. It boasts these two brown orbs that are so bright they could knock the sun off its orbit and replace every bit of warmth I need but distract me from my words. Don’t even get me started on the voice that pours from behind her teeth and can fly into an auditorium in a piercingly loud, beautiful wail that kisses your ears. I like her head because it’s just a part of her flawed animations.

****

“So, are you sure these will be anonymous?” I inquire one last time as I’m bent over a table in the lunchroom and scribbling Rachel’s locker number onto a slip of paper. I hesitate across the sender’s slot, waiting for the young blond cheerleaders response.

She shrugged hollowly and drummed her fingers. “Ms. Sylvester said yes. But it’s Ms. Sylvester.”

My teeth nibbled over my bottom lip as my eyebrows creased and I stood up straighter, rocking on my heels uncertainly. The cheerleading squad was selling carnations to raise money for pom poms after Figgins took away their salary budget for them. Red roses were for romance, white for friendship. I’d filled out the slip necessary, and now I had two options; an anonymous red rose, or an open white rose.

Shifting from foot to foot, the sophomore was still boringly watching me, her chin now thumped into the palm of her hand as she impatiently waited. I could only watch those short small fingers of her other hand pad against the table as my eyebrows furrowed more and I put more speculation under this situation than needed.

I point out my finger to one of the pile of roses. “I’ll take one of those.”

“And she decides...” the girl mumbled before taking the slip and taping it around the stem of the rose.

I paid, I walked, I huffed a breath of relief and felt confident with my decision.

I left the cafeteria because my head was ringing because I sent a carnation to Rachel Berry and because I’m Quinn Fabray and because I still haven’t spoken to her since Santana blew her off on Friday. The carnations weren’t going to be sent out until next week, so there was no point in waiting for that. With anyone else, I’d slip beside their locker, bat a few eyelashes, trail my fingers down their arm and whisper in their ear. Get back on their good side. But I used that to maintain a reputation I truthfully didn’t care much for, and being amiable to Rachel wasn’t about reputation. If anything it was going against it.

I turned a corner and a poster caught my eye. It had a pumpkin on it, a border of animated ghosts, and some unattractive bold lettering that promoted a horror-themed bake sale.

Halloween.

Swiftly burning holes through doors and gliding over hallways, I slid into a computer chair in the library and poured over a keyboard. I swept over the keys, logged into the best known social media, and typed Rachel’s name into the search bar. Aggravated by the slow internet, my thumb tapped in the space bar before her page loaded and I clicked on her personal information. Scrolling to the middle, I peered at her birthday. October 28th.

I knew it. I knew her birthday was near Halloween. Finn threw a fit last year about having to buy so many presents in such a short time with Christmas around the corner, while I only jerked an eyeroll and ignored them both.

I could do something. Something nice or sweet, maybe romantic, but not over the top. No, not romantic. That’d be--

“What are you doing?”

I reflexively grabbed at the screen of the Mac as if to shut a laptop, but being a school computer I knocked the small flat screen over onto the table and yelped out loud as it clattered, my hands retracting repeatedly before pressing forward in my uncertainty of what to do.

Giving up, I turned around shamefully with red cheeks and naive, innocent eyes. “Um, hi.”

Rachel stood there, a small smirk on her lips and her nimble fingers knitted together. “Hi Quinn.”

I swallowed tightly and curled my legs underneath the spinning chair, squinting up sheepishly at Rachel before I became hooked and infatuated with her small smile yet again. The way the corner of her lips perked up inside her skin and lifted her entire face. God.

“Hi,” I croak again, unsure what to say, and realizing I still had an apology in order.

“Hi,” she breathed.

We didn’t say anything. She was looking at me, and I was looking at her. We both had knives in our hand we were hooking under each others’ skin as we raced to see who could peel the layers back first, who could reveal the truth first and be a legendary prodigy. Her knife was drawing blood behind my eyes and I could feel it oozing down my face as a hand stretched from my mouth and pulled my inside of myself.

I blinked.

She didn’t seem mad, or upset. Hurt. Maybe at the time, but she wasn’t even weary. Should I even apologize then? I mean, she was the one who approached me and triggered a scene made of mortification on my part, so frankly I think it’s her responsibility to say something.

Anything.

At all.

Something.

Glancing to my left, I suck in my bottom lip nervously before spitting it back out and gesturing to the chair next to me. “Do you -- want to... sit?”

Rachel’s eyes flickered over and followed my hand, her eyes glazing over in.. what... gratitude? She was pulling back one curtain before tossing another right over my head as I flailed blindly in the dark.

She sat.

She did that thing with her hand she always does when she sits -- swiping them underneath her skirt to smooth it out. I know everyone does that, but watching her do it so many times made it her signature trait that I’d come to adore.

She nodded her chin gently at the computer. “You, uh, gonna fix that?”

Blushing, my fingers scramble across the desk and I grimace slightly as I lift it back up, revealing the screen again of Rachel’s Facebook page.

“I-- um, I was just--” I desperately clawed for an excuse, finding none helplessly before I trailed off into an uncomfortable silence.

Rachel chuckled lightly, shaking her head and shrugged.

“You...” I swallowed tightly. “Your birthday is next week.”

Seeming both minorly displeased as well as cherished, her own cheeks flushed and again, she shrugged. “So I’ve heard.”

I’ve never seen her like this. I’ve never seen myself like this. We were two shy, blushing girls avoiding eye contact; when it was caught, however, it was held and hard to break by either end and it made my chest tight.

“I want to do something for you,” I blurted, my eyes widening slightly as my tongue challenged its own duel and fought for this. “Like -- for your birthday. A party, or something. We-- We should do something.”

Rachel’s eyelids blinked over and was a spotlight for surprise. Her lip hooked underneath her teeth and she bit down, a crease in her brow. She still wasn’t cautious or careful, just simply confused. The clock’s ticking was painful to my ears and was twice as slow as my heart rate right then.

Fuck. It’s her 18th birthday -- she can now vote and buy porn; why would she want to share such a special day like that with me?

She was licking her lips as they parted and I could still see her tongue and I felt dizzy in anticipation and I could feel a bead of sweat break in the back of my neck when--

“Okay.”

Okay. “Okay?”

A shrug. “Sure.”

Okay? “Okay.”

Rachel smiled at me. Her lips twitched and she grinned, shaking her head bemusedly. I felt like a little kid with my hunched shoulders and the way my hands were nervously between my thighs, as if I were cold. Not to mention my red cheeks and crooked grin.

“Did you have anything in particular in mind?” she posed casually. Although she might not appear weary, she was also prepared. As if her expectations of me following through with anything were already six feet underground.

I picked up a pencil for my fingers to twirl across my knuckles, a distraction to pull my eyes on to. “Uh, I don’t know. It’s your birthday. Whatever you want is yours.”

Her eyebrow perked and she smirked. “Don’t be selling yourself out so soon, Quinn.”

With a laugh, I looked back into her gleaming eyes as her own humorous symphony escaped her mouth. “Shut up,” I threaten, still smiling as I shake my head.

She raised her hands up like a victim in defense. “I’m just saying, prostitution doesn’t seem really your thing.” Her eyebrows wiggled and my chest inflated. God fuck, I was so in deep already.

“I wasn’t even thinking about it that way -- you’re the one who made that connection.” I winked playfully, leaning forward now.

Pursing her lips, she raised both eyebrows now. “Oh, I am huh?”

I snorted. “Yes, you are.”

She shrugged cluelessly and pressed her lips to suppress her smile.

“Have I mentioned you’re a brat?”

Another shrug. “So you’ve said.” But a smile tugged at her lips and my toes curled inside my boots. I needed to contain that smile somehow. A camera would never do her justice, and a jar would release it as soon as I opened to breathe it in. The best thing was her smile itself. The plastered grin on the girl which concluded to the girl herself would be all to myself. I could draw a smile on her and keep it there, watching it all day.

God.

I’m pathetic.

“An adorable brat, though, right?” Rachel added with a cute little grin.

I bit my lip and scratched my head as an alarm in my head was screaming _fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

“You never walked me to my locker, though,” I retorted.

A pout formed and she sulked in on herself. My mouth framed an ‘ _aw_ ’ shape and all my features melted, internally and externally. Before I could stop myself, my hand reached out to rub the frown from her face. “Fine, you’re on the verge of it. Better?”

She didn’t push my hand away, so I kept it there, cupping her face. Her skin was so warm, her cheeks bubbling beneath my touch. The only reason I wanted to pull away was the worry my hands were rough and sweaty, scabbing her beautiful face, like I was defiling it.

Leaning into my palm, I felt it before I saw her lips twitch. “That’s it? I feel like I’ve failed you.”

 _As a what?_ I wanted to ask, but my thumb only pecked at her creases in her forehead. She was too cute to be pouting like that. Although it did just add to the adorableness and make me swoon.

I drop my hand and huff a sigh dramatically. “Fine. You’re an adorable brat.” I cross my arms across of my chest, mockingly irritated.

Rachel sat forward and pecked me on the cheek, beaming. “I knew it.”

I swear to God I must have looked like a fucking tomato. I knew she noticed the rouging because her eyes raked across my face. I brushed my fingers along my collarbone, wondering if the blush was spreading like an internal epidemic.

“Yeah yeah, whatever, suck up the glory now before I change my mind.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” she insisted, nudging my knee with her own. I met her eyes and -- Jesus I could feel something. Some pull between us, like she already had her fingers wrapped around my neck and was pulling me in with parted lips to--

“What did you have in mind again?” Rachel asked, changing the subject.

I blinked dazedly, flung out of my daydream. “Hm?”

Her eyes dropped and she played with her fingers. Her index fingers looped together. “The-- M-My birthday.”

We’re alone. I can do this. I can be nice and not run away. Fuck, this was getting worse by the second.

I inhaled sharply through my nose, my spine erecting as my fingers buried between my knees awkwardly. I puffed out a breath after holding it momentarily and wiggled my fingers in thought. “Um.” Fuck fuck fuck. What did people like to do for their birthdays? “We could... go to the mall, like.. shopping I guess.” I dropped my chin sheepishly, scavenging for better ideas. “Er...” I bite my lip. “There’s a lot.”

Despite my evident lack of creativity, Rachel giggled and tucked some hair behind her ear. With a shrug and her eyes lowered, she offered “Surprise me.”

“What?”

Another shrug. “Pick me up on my birthday... and... surprise me.” Her gaze flickered back up and pierced through my veil and snapped something. With my lips subtly parted and my jaw crooked, I nodded silently, unable to string words with the way she was so innocently blinking up at me through her long lashes.

Misinterpreting my reaction, or lack thereof, Rachel hastily thrust her hands out. “I mean-- you don’t have to do anything! I don’t even know if-- if my dads made plans or-or if you’re busy or--”

My hazel eyes skittered across Rachel’s face and I retracted like a startled animal, my eyes widening in attempt to take everything in. Rachel was babbling and flustered and her cheeks were heating up, I could see. My teeth bled across my skin in a white grin.

Reaching out to drop my fingers atop her hands, I leaned across my lap and crooked my head lower to meet her eyes. “Rachel.”

Her sentence rolled off track and she blinked, wide-eyed as her hands froze beneath mine. I had to admit, I would be having a similar reaction if I wasn’t still so absorbed in recording those big eyes and bright smile or completely and obsessively admiring her cuteness.

“I’ll pick you up at noon.”

Rachel jerkingly nodded, her tongue molded inside her teeth uncomfortable and I could still make out the lingering remains of her blush. Retracting my hand and leaning back against the seat, I smiled before an internal jab in the gut forced words between my teeth, stuffing them out before I could find the strength to stop them. “Just... don’t... _tell_ anyone... about it.” I swallowed a tight lump that left my clawing at my throat and hating my demeanor.

Again, she nodded, but I could see the hurt understanding in her eyes. God _fuck._

I was holding the match between us, it’s brilliant flames lapping at the air and sucking in the oxygen. It was inflating and burning the skies, flickering at the tips of her hair and enhancing her brilliant smile. But would I stuff it between her lips, manipulating the original purpose for this flame to use as an aiding defense, or would I let it create something beautiful?

“Okay.”

Okay. She said okay.

She knew what she was getting into. She had to see how clumsy with my words I was. I gag on bubbling voices that tell me to go for it but step back. The sweat lingering down my spine was because of her. I see an entire universe waiting behind her, with only one wall to clamber over and across before I could greet this infinite bliss. Something has laced our stitches together -- whether it’s that same noose around our necks  hovering over a chair, or a golden thread wilting to something beautiful, I’ll never know.

I just know she has a smile I’ve never seen before, and that’s something you see only once in your lifetimes -- if at all.


End file.
